


baby love me lights out

by Mangerine



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Multi, No type-matching we pokebattle for love like men, Stress-induced Dissociation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangerine/pseuds/Mangerine
Summary: What happens when you outgrow your childhood dreams? Three years a Champion and Victor is losing grip of himself and his relationship - but when he finds out Raihan and Leon haven't gone on their honeymoon despite beingmarried for three years, Victor figures he can take on a little more in the name of Love.Except he just bit off much, much more than he can chew. Being young and stupid got him in this mess, maybe it'll get him out.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan, Hop/Masaru | Victor, Rurina | Nessa/Sonia
Comments: 16
Kudos: 98





	baby love me lights out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freshia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshia/gifts).



> ※Note: This fic adds 5 years to all characters involved – Victor and Hop are 15 in-game, while Leon and Raihan are 25.

The honeymoon lasts anywhere from twelve to twenty-four months. It might be your dream job, or a new friendship with someone you thought was too cool to be your friend, or just plain old love.

Eventually the friction of the daily grind wears away at your nerves, you wish these academic writers would just use words with two syllables or fewer; the system keeps locking you out and you accidentally paid to bypass a paywall you could've pirated again. That friend's just another human; you swipe their message notifications off your pikachutube screen. You forget to answer them for an hour sometimes.

Infatuation fends off time like flowers in a squall, dead in the mud in shapes of smashed butterflies. It served its job, you felt the high, that was it and the exit's to your left.

He leaves his laundry everywhere, Wooloo keeps tripping over his Pokéballs, more than once down the stairs. He’s only saved by his wool coat, the Grace of Arceus salvage him during shear season. He always visits at ungodly hours to avoid the paparazzi, and he _always_ wants a proper welcome back kiss. He misses you "so goddamn much", he hates his job sometimes, he wishes you’d reply faster, he wants more selfies of you.

Yes, you find out you're human in your misshapen way too. You finish the coffee and keep forgetting to put the kettle on after, you've picked up smoking when stressed (just one or two sticks a time, don't tell Leon). You're grumpy if you don't get enough sleep, which is five out of seven days a week. You're bad at kissing, you're sensitive about it when he laughs at you over it, you're bad at socializing, you kind of hate attention sometimes, even if it's from him.

It's already been 36 months.

How long is this going to go on? You keep stubbing your toe when you see him waving his beanie from down the street, 03:24 in the morning through your bedroom window. Sometimes you kick instinctively at the flash of white and it's just the moon in the clouds.

He's still got the housekeeping manners of a caveman - jangling his keys when he's opening the front door, forgetting them in the lock if he saw you waving back at him. He flings his luggage at the bottom of the stairs now at least, for darling Wooloo's sake. He slips on the stairs and stomps **hard** to get his balance back, he forgot about his socks again

He wakes all the Pokémon up, he wakes you up if he has to.

  


Tonight he doesn't have to, you're out your room with your stubbed toe and you're back in his arms, kissing him badly, deeply. If he minds your cigarespresso breath he doesn't ever mention it, and he mentions everything - that you need to stop kissing like you were taking poison damage, that you need to shower even during crunch period, that he knows it's been three days at least from nuzzling your hair because he's been camping with you, which you push him away for because he's _gross_ \--

He never smiles like that when he's on camera. You never have to share this Victor. He's foul-mouthed, handsy and acts like he walked out of the wild area to join humans at fifteen - but he remembers the kettle, and he loves you.

xo

Past the soap, Hop can smell the curry puffs from that store in West Wyndon, the one that opens at noon and closes at two in the afternoon because the old lady who runs it has arthritis and won't make more than a hundred a day or sell her recipe.

Every customer is limited to just one. Victor always brings a box of six. Unlike Lee, Victor doesn’t hesitate to flash his Champion status like the key to the city.

For him at least.

Hop can't complain. Well, he can't complain out loud. Victor loves him, or. Well.

Hop's stalling, pretending choosing his pyjamas is a serious decision - tonight the choice between the wooloo t-shirt (a few holes loved into it over time, soft, rather snug now) and the shirt with “Baller” adorned with various Pokéballs (new, too hideous for public wear, large and warm). Both are gifts from his brother.

He's starving, he didn't expect Victor to visit – but the first night is always fine.

Hop can do that much.

In the dining room, Victor is pouring hot water into their mugs. From the yellow tag dangling over the rim, it's that sleepy-time tea his mum sent; just by Victor's pointed look, he can tell he's not getting another drop of coffee in him tonight.

Hop smiles, and Victor beams back, setting the kettle down and planting himself between Hop and his food, arms open for a hug.

"Vic, I'm hungryyyy," Hop whines, slapping his boyfriend's back like a petulant child.

"I'm hungry too," Victor answers, smiling as Hop sags his shoulders in a sigh when Victor plays at nipping his neck. The incorrigible flirt.

For him at least.

"You changed your shampoo," Victor says, pulling back and dragging the chair out so Hop can sit. Hop ignores the scratches on the tiles from his gentlemanly act.

"Mm, I was shedding way too much hair, Sonia said it might be the sulfates," Hop says past a mouthful of curry puff. The old lady could earn two Nidoqueen Stars at her shop with one foot in her grave.

"Or the stress," Victor says, managing to startle Inteleon awake in his Pokéball from the act of pulling his chair out and sitting down.

"Once you experience having your kit malfunction while tracking Hattrems in Glimwood, nothing is stressful," Hop says, reaching for his second curry puff and his first hot meal in three days, coffee excluded.

"Except you jump and think positive thoughts when you see anything move in the dark,"

"mmggot ihing?" Hop asks mid-chew, nodding at the four remaining pastries. He could polish them off himself. It's a tempting thought.

"It was a box of ten when I left Wyndon, go ahead," Victor replies, leaning back in the chair with his tea.

The box is too small for ten.

Hop is too small for Victor.

If he were more, he'd insist that Victor ate, or slept instead of running over whenever his schedule allowed. All that to bring food to Hop and put the kettle on.

All that for his clumsy welcome back kiss.

Victor's done with his tea and watching Hop with an easy smile on his face – he’s an obnoxious texter; Hop gets memes and cute pictures of baby Pokémon hourly, but tonight his phone is absent, maybe even back in Wyndon.

It’s more than Hop can take. He's too small for Victor's kiss, his tea, his visits, his smile.

"Go shower, it's late," Hop commands with a kick to Victor's shin, "close the door _gently_ -"

Victor rolls his eyes and puts up a scout's salute.

"-because Wooloo can't have that humidity right now."

"Ok, professor," Victor says, managing to stand and tuck his chair in without any commotion. He moves for his luggage, but swoops down to try and snatch a quick kiss. Hop swings away violently enough to nearly topple.

"MMMMPHHHG, Vic, I was _chewing_! Wait till I brush my teeth!"

"You won't need to after I'm done with you," Victor suggests with a smile, leaning down with his tongue out and making a show of twisting it this way and that.

" **GROSS**! SHOWER! NOW!" Hop screeches, face red like Victor didn't always revert to a twelve-year-old around him. Victor laughs like thunder, and impossibly louder still when Inteleon releases himself from his Pokéball, picks it up, and walks out the room with it.

xo

When he wakes, he's alone in bed and there's chaos downstairs - probably from Victor existing. He hears a concerning CLANG and _several_ Pokémon making startled noises. That means the toast is done, or that the toaster is done for.

Breakfast in bed is banned because Victor can't keep his hands or mouth to himself near Hop. There's an orange juice stain that won't come off his Wooloo plush, there's an orange flavoured memory that Hop won't admit to reliving when he passes the produce aisle.

His bed is a mess. Victor had helped himself to the spare blanket and a couch cushion for a pillow. His towel is thrown over the headboard to dry. There's a checkered item dangling off the mattress. Arceus _above_ , that better be his shirt and not what Hop thinks it-

It's his shirt. The one he wore to bed.

Hop picks up stray Pokéballs and stuffs them into Victor's beanie, puttering around to wake up before heading down. He hears Zamazenta yelp, which is concerning, but Zacian, who's used to Victor by now, is thankfully calm. It's a concerning litmus test. It also works.

"Good morning," Hop greets from the stairs, dumping the beanie of Pokéballs on Victor's unopened luggage - wait, then whose towel...?

"-can I still get my deposit back, Vic?"

"Mehh," Wooloo whines, tottering to Hop with a dollop of jam on his rump.

"Well," Victor says, shirtless and confused like the Pokémon in the room, "Good news bad news,"

Hop hates this game.

"Bad news," he answers, grabbing napkins off the dining table to find that the stack was surprisingly damp. With something. Wooloo backs away from it.

"We are out of toast," Victor declares. "Inteleon, help Wooloo out."

"No--!"

"MEHH!" Wooloo cries, a jet of water blasting him from the direction of the dining table. Inteleon makes the exact same face Victor does when he breaks something in the lab. He’s helped himself to Hop’s fruit granola, and shrugging at the wailing Wooloo, goes back to his breakfast daintily.

"The good news is!" Victor claps, getting Hop's attention, "I got a whole day off! We can go eat something nice, how about that?"

Before Hop can reply, the familiar aroma of burnt toast catches his attention, and he turns to see three legendary Pokémon squeezed in his living room, crunching on something resembling charcoal briquettes.

Two of three, Zamazenta is looking at him with eyes of deep suffering while his older sister helps herself to his bowl of toast.

“They hate the organic stuff the staff feed them anyway,” Victor explains, tossing a slice of toast like a frisbee for Zacian. The ceiling light sways for a long while from her pounce.

Hop blinks.

“Can Zamazenta drink milk or is he lactose intolerant like Eternatus?”

Victor gets snapped at for his indiscretion, before she returns to munching toast as black as her exoskeleton. _She’s grumpy in the morning_ , Vic had told him once, as though the last time she woke up grumpy she didn’t spiral Galar into chaos.

“Bah,” Dubwool bleats, more dark patches in his wool than Hop recalls. Wooloo has been licked clean, damp and shaken by the stairs.

“Go change, go change,” Victor shoos, “no, wait-”

Hop doesn’t think he can take any more surprises before breakfast.

“Good morning kiss?”

xo

Hop makes sure his Pokémon are settled before heading up to change - Wooloo set out to graze with Dubwool; Cinderace and Zamazenta served breakfast with actual nutritional value.

Zacian and Eternatus refused actual food, and Hop watches in horror as Victor takes a swig of milk from the carton and pours the rest down Eternatus’ gaping maw.

Both of them very much lactose intolerant.

He’s in front of the mirror when Sonia calls.

“Hop? Sorry to call this early,” Sonia says. There’s chattering in the background, were they expecting visitors at the lab?

“It’s alright, what’s up?”

“Is…” Sonia lowers her voice to a hush, “Is Victor with you?”

Hop can’t believe he trusted Victor. A day off for the champion, when tournaments were playing daily on the telly? He feels like an idiot.

“Where’s he supposed to be?”

Poor Sonia, he bets she wishes Leon was still Champion.

“…Wyndon. He has a few pre-tournament interviews to go through today.”

“He’ll be over,” Hop says, and ends the call.

When Hop goes down, the window is ajar and a breeze is drying the freshly wiped countertops. Outside, he can see Dubwool and Wooloo snoozing against Zamazenta. Eternatus and Zacain are leaning over a lounging Inteleon, watching him play…what looked like solitaire, on a rotom tablet.

“Kids these days, right?” Victor smiles from the sink, wiping his face with the dishcloth, the Champion face insured for more Pokédollars than Hop earns in a year.

“They won’t even play with the feather toys I get them anymore, and Crybaby there used to love those.” Victor smiles like a proud father, “They grow up so fast,”

“Dubwool, Wooloo, Zamazenta,” Hop calls, “come back,”

His Pokémon turn quizzically, but return to the Pokéballs he’s holding out anyway. His Cinderace is still running laps in the far field, Hop leaves him.

“Call yours back too,” Hop says, pushing Victor’s shirt to him and dropping his own Pokéballs on the sofa, covering them with a cushion.

Victor is frowning, pulling his shirt over his sweaty self.

“Alright kids,” Victor calls, glancing at Hop with worry. His teenage children turn with disinterest towards him, “bring it in, give me the tablet.”

Inteleon rolls his eyes and drops the tablet on the grass, returning to his Pokéball through the window. Zacain and Eternatus shrug and follow suite. Rotom floats in dutifully, but hides near Victor’s luggage, unwilling to approach near the lovers.

Hop makes eye contact, and Victor squares his shoulders instinctively.

“Where’s your phone, love?” Hop asks, crossing his arms. Arceus, if saving Galar earned him some good karma, he’d like to cash it in now.

“Must have forgotten it in my office,” Victor says, “It’s a right mess,”

“But Rotom came along?”

“He’s a darling,” Victor says, “even if he forgets my phone sometimes,”

Rotom plays dead where he’s lying. Inteleon is gesturing from his Pokéball for him to power back on so he can continue his game.

It must be because he’s hungry and nothing else. Hop doesn’t mean to lose his temper; rarely ever does. He’s been a Wooloo sort his whole life: stubborn, peace-keeping, stubborn about the peace-keeping.

It’s because it’s Victor. It’s Victor again.

"You don't have to keep running over here to play nanny! I don't want to be the reason Galar's Champion keeps fucking up!" Hop shouts, “Vic, they know where I _work,_ they might know where I _live_.”

Victor has his hands clenched, Hop only knows because he breaks eye contact to look down. It’s not anger on Victor’s face anyway. It never is.

“It’s just the same old pre-game interview every time, they can just play last year’s-”

“It’s the same old me!” Hop argues, “It’s just **me**! Go be a Champion for everyone else!”

“It’s not, Hop, you keep-”

Cinderace thumps past the house, takes one look at them through the window, and keeps on running.

“You’re pushing me away again,” Victor says, reluctant.

“I am,” Hop says, “just until after tournament season.”

Hop has a million papers to digitally archive after tournament season.

“You’re lying,”

Hop takes a step back before Victor tries reaching for him. He makes stupid decisions in Victor’s arms.

“Let’s just get breakfast,” Victor says, “I’ll go be Champion right after, promise.”

Victor’s only like this because he promised he wouldn’t be another Leon – a Champion-shaped hole in his life to miss. Hop wants him to break that promise, just so Hop can break the one they made about being rivals forever.

 _Forever_ \- what a child he was.

“You’re Champion right **now** ,” Hop says, voice even and firm, “so you’re going to Wyndon right _now_.”

“Then I’ll be Vic right now, just Vic, ok? Just today, I’ll stop being Champion-”

“Stop it! You don’t get to do that whenever you like, that’s not what being Champion _is,”_

Champion is Galar’s pride, protector, pinnacle - his brother’s 10-year duty, his childhood dream. It’s nothing but a tripping stone in Victor’s eyes – because of Hop. It’s because Hop is in the picture.

“Then I’ll stop being Champion for good!” Victor yells, and it’s still not anger in his voice, it’s just desperation, a voice that sounds small and helpless no matter how loud it is. “Hop, Arceus, I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s not worth us fighting over this again.”

“What would it mean if you do?” Hop turns his back, folds his arms, “-if you miss me after that? Do I quit being a professor too? Just so you can bring me everywhere like one of your Pokémon?”

Victor reaches out and Hop draws his shoulders in, out of reach.

“We’re not kids anymore, you know what being a Champion means.”

Last time they fought about this, Victor replied with "It means nothing compared to you."

Hop knows he means it, so it scares him. Victor loves like he has something to prove, loves like Hop is on the other side of a war. Hop is the man on the moon and Victor is trying to soar where Icarus fell.

What hurts the most is that it's not an empty romance, not Applins and poetry and romantic getaways - it's Victor outside his door with cake and on live TV an hour later with frostbite because he sped back to Wyndon on Corviknight in the dead of winter. It's one less sponsorship logo on his mantle because he refused a meeting over Valentines.

_I’ll get another sponsor in a month, if not the Champion’s League then the Battle Tower will, I’ll heal, I’ll be fine,_

_-you come first, Hop._

It's the very real, proven fact that Victor is reckless for Hop. While Victor is Hop’s first love, Hop is Victor’s _“first and only and true love”_ – which means that they could both be making mistakes, only Victor has so much more to lose.

If--

If Hop could be….more. He could be a better person for Victor. They could go public; they could be happy. Hop could even dream that he deserved Victor. Yet after all these years he has little to his name – some qualifications, an apartment, another Wooloo – nothing grand like his own lab or field of study. Nothing big enough to stand beside the Champion. Not even _Raihan_ could stand that near, always standing a foot away from Leon as a rival.

Latest research shows that most Pokémon who train in solitude rarely reach their full potential. Pokémon thrive in social competition, an underdeveloped sense of ego helps them persevere even after setbacks.

Next to Raihan as the Champion’s love and rival, next to Sonia as a professor, next to Victor as his boyfriend - Hop is disappearing. Hop is human and weak in his own reflection, past the prime of evolution, if he, hypothetically-

If he abandons cowardice long enough, to tell Victor to leave him, for his own good.

If he swore off the news and his phone, it wouldn't matter if Victor moved on. It wouldn't matter with who.

Right? He could. He could do this for Victor.

So when Victor says "It means nothing compared to you," with eyes like an astronaut, reflecting bright stars when he looks at Hop,

Hop replies with nothing but gravity.

"Then don't compare it to me! Don't put me in this equation at all! Or I'll leave myself!"

He made Victor cry. He made Victor beg him to stay.

xo

So this time Victor doesn't say that.

"Being Champion is important to me, but so are you, Hop."

Hop shakes his head and sighs.

“I shouldn’t be. Not this much.”

Victor knows he means it, so it scares him.

These days, Victor's used to seeing a flash of panic in eyes before he gets "yes" as an answer anyway. Being Champion means his shadow is much larger than himself – He’s intimidating even past his smiles and manners. He’s terrifying just asking for more curry puffs.

Hop is all he has left of himself. Only Hop laughs at his beanie hair, only Hop kicks him for being messy, nags him, kisses him even though Victor is an ass to him about it.

It's only ever been Hop, it only ever will be him.

Victor keeps looking for his face in the crowd, waiting for the rare selfie Hop sends. He knows it's tiring Hop out, his greed eating Hop alive. Rivals didn't satisfy, it had to be Lovers. A video call isn't enough, he had to hold him to sleep. Three years isn't enough, he wants forever and more. 25 hours and 8 days a week.

He was short with an interviewer trying to push a romantic agenda with him and some CEO. He added a Dubwool to his team, flaunted his Flapple on social media. He's spotted on midnight trains; someone saw his beanie when he was riding Corviknight home. _Scientists_ were debating a flight path on pidgetter, tracking his movements by calculating the wind speed and weather that day.

Hop hates attention. He learns that after trucks of cameramen camp outside the lab. Leon had to step in after two weeks. Victor refused to deny anything. That was another fight.

When Hop...asked to be free,

Something broke. There was a mountain reduced to seawater. In an instant, without a sound. His heart broke - and vanished. Hop reduced him to an open window, looking through him with angry tears in his eyes.

_Give it back_ , Victor wanted to scream.

 _Why_? Was he too childish? Did Hop want this mantle and crown? Anything. Ask for anything, Hop.

Just not freedom.

It's the one thing Champion Victor cannot allow, the reality that Hop is happier far from him.

So now being Champion is important to him; that's the only reason why Hop is still here. He'll be crucified publicly for ruining the Champion if he leaves. He's keeping Hop hostage.

Victor learns to make do. He can take the strained smiles Hop gives him, he can take the radio silence. Anything. Anything for his keys to still fit in the lock when he misses Hop in the dead of night.

So when Hop says "I shouldn't be," when Victor says he's loved with _everything_ he has to offer, when he shrinks as Victor reaches out. When Hop stops saying he loves him because he's a bad liar-

"You are," Victor insists, defeated, "you're everything."

Hop turns when he hears the roll of a suitcase and clattering of keys. Victor leaves his Pokéballs nestled in his beanie, cradling them.

“I’ll call before I come next time,”

_Hop probably won’t answer,_

“after the Championship tournaments,”

_Does Hop still know when that is?_

"Good-"

Phyton Therapy Peppermint Shampoo. Plant-based, sulphate-free, sky-blue bottle. He chose the potato curry puff first. His current research is about symbiotic relationships in wild Pokémon, how they form and affect the eco-system at large. He’s still got five large packs of instant coffee, still sleeps like the dead in Victor’s arms. He doesn't love him anymore. He kept the Wooloo plushie Victor won him. He’s getting further and further away. He’s still a sight to behold from this distance, shining in his lab coat like a white star.

"Good luck kiss?" Victor smiles, opening his arms.

Hop falls into him, they close into a hug like a knot being fastened. He takes a deep breath of Victor smelling like his body wash, where his collar hides his neck. He outgrew Hop last year, just a little. Victor doesn't want to talk about Champion duties, Hop doesn't want to talk about academic stress. There's nothing to say with words anymore.

"Mwah," Hop kisses on his left cheek. "Mwah," on the right. Victor's blushing because it works every time, he's going to wash the competition. Hop's blushing because the thought of being Victor's lucky charm is frying something in his brain.

They kiss.

Hop is getting better - Victor teases that it’s because he’s snogging the Wooloo plushie at night for practice. He hopes that’s the truth.

"Give them hell, Champion,"

 _It's Vic. It's your Vic_.

"I love you," Victor says instead of _Goodbye_.

"-so much," Hop whispers back, smiling.

When Victor locks the door behind him, Wooloo pops out his Pokéball and rushes Hop, battering into his shins as Hop sits and sobs into his coat.

  


xo

If Victor is angry at him,

(he never is, but,)

he still sends a text when he reaches Wyndon. Hop watches some of his interview while waiting for water to boil. He sends a picture of Hop’s shampoo brand in his hand, captioned “we match <3”. Hop falls into Dubwool’s fur and smiles until his face hurts.

Hop sends a selfie of himself kissing the Wooloo plush. He ignores all fifteen consecutive video calls Victor makes right after.

Then even night is dedicated to prep work at the lab; preparing sample containers, restocking field packs. Hop starts dreaming about spreadsheets.

Nessa drops by with dinner and snacks one night, whisking away Sonia for an hour and forgetting to wipe away the lipstick stains on her neck when she comes out, cool as a cucumber.

Hop laughs because he’s human, and Nessa whips around to ask how much action _he’s_ getting from the Wooloo plushie. Even _Sonia_ snorts, Hop collapses into Dubwool and screams.

( _“You know you’re his lockscreen right?”_

_Hop thinks he sees a new colour.)_

The point is, the workload makes Hop forget – he forgets their fight, forgets that he and Victor are barely eighteen and how young that is. He’ll remember later, but at this crucial point, at this life-altering point, Hop forgets:

  * Victor confesses with the promise of beating his brother, the _10-Year Undefeated Champion of Galar,_ just so Hop didn’t have to miss him again, as proof of love.
  * A voice barking orders, too rough to be familiar between lapses of consciousness, as Hop and his team are carried out Glimwood Tangle, away from wild Hattrems. A cool compress on his forehead and a warm hand under his neck.
  * Making longing eye contact with a Wooloo plushie in a claw machine and finding it on his bed later, clean for only that night before the orange incident.
  * Victor, fourteen, only child, vexed at Hop going on and on about his brother.
  * Victor’s face after Hop gives him his first good luck kiss.
  * Victor’s face when Hop tries to break up with him.



So maybe Hop is a scientist; he doesn’t have the _sense_ to connect separate stars into constellations. Maybe while he had a magnifying glass over how they’re ever going to make their relationship work, Hop forgot that for Victor, Hop is always in the equation, always the exception, and like they promised, eternal.

 _Rivals_ **_forever_**.

It makes sense retrospectively, like a list of observations you’re compiling into conclusions, that maybe, plausibly,

An only child, ardent and obdurate, would be competitive, not yield easily to sharing (Equation A) +

Champion Victor, Tamer of Legendaries, Saviour of Galar, is still human, still a teenager, and experiences stress, especially when it comes to (Equation B) +

Hop, who Victor is in love with, who Victor thinks he’s losing (Equation C)

= ?

There’s a knock at the door. Hop stands to answer it.

xo

This tournament season is special.

It begins two months ago when Raihan uploads a picture of a fancy dinner, champagne flute drained, a full bottle nearby. A bouquet on the table, petals accentuated with pearls. A sky-high night view of Hammerlocke glowing out the sprawling window. Candles on the table. Left hand with wedding ring snug in the corner of the shot. No caption.

Of course someone zooms into the reflection of the champagne bottle to find the tipsy, smiling visage of Leon.

Of course someone finds his archived vent post about missing the homeward migration in Alola _again_. It’s the peak of Gym challenges after all.

Of course a conspiracy theory goes viral, that he and Leon never celebrated their anniversary on the date of proper – because he’s an idiot that proposed right after Leon was no longer Champion. At the busiest time of year for the Gym Leaders.

Of course they’re right.

Raihan expected the other Gym Leaders to give him hell about it. Especially Nessa, whose latest anniversary gift was a pearl necklace - hand-picked pearls off Hulbury coast for “every time she thought of Sonia”.

Even Kabu looked sincerely distraught at Raihan and Leon being too busy to “enjoy their youth”, which, accompanied with his wistful look and ever-single status, brought more questions than answers.

What he doesn’t expect is an online petition to collect seven hundred thousand signatures in an hour for him to miss the tournament season this year to go on his honeymoon. What he expects even less is for the petition’s creator to be current Champion Victor.

He screenshots and sends the petition to Leon, in a daze. His husband replies with a “Thank you for your signature!” page.

So that’s that.

Victor had been more than happy to watch his management team argue for hours over the decision. The day progressed from a screaming match after breakfast to having security confiscate their Pokéballs during tea. By the time dinner time rolled round, the sun and a brawl were low on the horizon.

All that to end up in a deadlock like Victor expected – leaving the final decision to the Champion anyway.

“There won’t be a Dragon Gym challenge this year,” Victor says, standing.

“We have sponsors to account for, no one wants to watch faceless trainers battle each other for a week. Gym Leader Raihan’s not just there to streamline the finalis–”

“I’ll fight them.” Victor says, pulling the mantle off the back of his chair, “Tell them I’ll fight the top ten trainers instead of just the last one standing.”

The sunset through the window can’t hide how the colour drains from their faces.

“But, but that’s, in a day, that’s-“

“-final.”

xo

He rejected Leon’s old penthouse in the middle of the city. That was headline fodder the first week he spends as Champion – Ungrateful. Haughty. Brat.

He only knows because Raihan has Rotom read headlines out loud while he’s helping Victor move into his new place. Leon himself laughs and says he only stayed there because Rose kept him on a short leash. It built to impress without any real luxury – some nights Leon needed Charizard for a hot shower because durable water pipes didn’t fit the _aesthetiqué_.

His place is just as awful, just not as pretentious. It’s near the train station, a humble apartment that was really two vertical units with the ceiling-floor between them removed. It’s a novel concept, it’s also very illegal. There’s a door which used to lead to the upper unit that now led to a two-story plummet down. Leon and Charizard helped weld it shut while Inteleon stood on standby. Successful; still very illegal.

It takes a week to make the shithole a house, another to make the house a home, and just another to make the home a disgusting mancave. Not entirely Victor’s fault, his kids hate their Pokéballs – They let themselves out and scatter empty balls by the doorway. Hop assures him that it _is_ , in fact, his responsibility to housetrain his Pokémon.

_Hop._

It’s already tournament season, every day beginning and ending without Victor seeing the sun in the sky. His schedule is eroding him.

Not physically – he’s in form for the tournament. Not mentally – Victor never got nerves, not around crowds, not from stress, not from danger.

It’s just that he can’t taste food anymore, and his face looks alien even after spending two hours in front of the mirror as his stylist nags him about what shampoo he’s using and the way his beanie is ruining his hair.

His nutritionist is despairing over his late growth spurt – he’s not bulking fast enough for his post-tournament photoshoots; every supplement he provides is like trying to warm the ocean with a candle. He’s growing too fast - his fashion coordinator screams when he tries on his tailored pants and they stop at his calves. She took measurements two weeks before.

He can’t train in the wild; has to do it in a gym. Every move he makes is spliced in the recordings - his form isn’t intentional; his voice projection needs clarity when commanding his Pokémon. Victor calls it a day when they tell him he’s not pronouncing _Inteleon_ right. 

Everything human about himself visits him in dreams.

He remembers he’s eighteen, and how young that is. On his birthday a major tabloid winks and nods in every direction, calling him a Champion in the sheets, speculating circles around him that he cancels his birthday celebration before Marnie and Bede get pulled in. 

Leon suggests a lawsuit after reading the headline, tearing the steak-thick volume in half with a cold, practiced ease. Raihan listens to Victor laugh at it all, feign that he’s flattered with the way they photoshopped his abs - before pulling him in for a hug and telling him to stay offline as long as he needs.

His publicist suggests running along with the playboy image, and Victor laughs him out the room. He maintains his winning streak on the sheer adrenaline of Hop’s good luck kisses – he’d keep the youth pastor golden boy image. That’s within realm of reality, at least.

The year they spent in the wild felt like flying.

Hop’s hand in his, running back to base camp in the thunderstorm. Hop’s tent leaks because it’s a hand-me-down, the fabric is so thin Victor can almost count stars through it.

It’s a bell in the storm when Hop slides his hand over his own when they’re back in the tent.

“Your hand’s bigger,” he says, lashes long against his cheek when he looks down.

Subtlety’s the game – Hop pulls away, hangs up his socks, nothing to hide in his expression,– a suspiciously still lake in the storm. He’s noticed so late, Hop’s sly way with words - overturning a childhood bed to find monstrous claw marks on the underside; re-evaluating every bump in the night. Wondering, worrying. 

What Hop says presents two doors – one leads down a garden path he can walk back from; the other is a dark room with nothing but a desk and a note on it that reads _I’ve seen how you look at me, Vic._

That door has a lock on it.

Their lamp failing in that moment felt like the world closing their eyes. Victor remembers thinking he caught cold rain through the tent when he kisses Hop – then he realises that it’s warm, that Hop is wiping his tears away, that he’s doing the same for Hop, that Hop is smiling at him, that Hop loves him back.

He remembers the first time he felt like a man, when Hop calls, smiling and asking how knew about the Wooloo plush. A deep voice replies,

“How could I not?”

The call is over before Victor registers it’s his own voice, his own easy confidence. It’s a dark berry red of a voice, rich enough to stain - his next step feels like a long stride, crossing the same world with the view a head taller.

He remembers he's a helpless child after all, finding Hop’s unconscious body draped on a tree root. Victor crushes something underfoot in his haste – realizes it’s a psychic barrier, the thin band the only thing protecting Hop from Hattrem’s psychic attacks.

He wills all emotions to fade, running out the forest with Hop in his arms. When Hop heals a week later, he doesn’t remember waking, feverish and recoiling from Victor, demanding to know who he was, eyes fearful.

  


The doctor tells him Hop’s made a complete recovery, then again to Hop’s mother, when Victor couldn’t trust that they were just telling the Champion what he wants to hear.

He still doesn’t trust, because Hop’s forgetting.

Hop’s forgetting Victor’s the crybaby that wept when Hop kisses him for the first time. Victor’s not allowed back in that arcade with how he got the Wooloo plush out. He’s forgotten that it’s Vic, _his_ Vic, waking from nightmares and rushing over.

Or maybe he wasn’t forgetting much at all, because there’s so much Victor doesn’t want him to know – that kick of annoyance when Hop talked about Leon _again._ It’s not a kind joy Victor feels, knowing that _Champion_ is another name Hop can call him by. Stupid childish Victor that likes his name in Hop’s voice.

The last memory is having none at all. One day Victor wakes, and he can’t remember his own name. Champion Someone-or-Other, Champion Not-Leon, Champion of Galar, Tamer of Legendaries.

Corviknight rushes him to Postwick, Victor all the while revising the selfies Hop sent. There’s a feeble recollection of emotion where his heart should be, then a deep, profound nothing.

He closes his eyes, panic pounding in his chest; tries to remember Hop’s smile, his bad kiss, how he sounds saying Victor’s name.

He doesn’t have much time, his memories dull with each day - He’ll forget the sun and the rain and that he had a heart to love with. He’s screaming for Hop to do something, to remind him, to put his hand in his, to promise he’ll remember Victor even if the Champion title swallows him alive.

Hop tells him it’s best for Galar if Victor forgets altogether.

The Champion has a bitter memory of a boy smiling at someone else’s name. A long, long time ago, in a land far, far away. Deep in his hollow belly, the Champion supposes that this person must be important, because he burns at the idea of losing him.

xo

It’s too late for trainers to come for their starters. They weren’t expecting a delivery either – Hop dials for police and leaves the phone within reach before checking the peephole, standard procedure for the ex-Champion’s family.

Considering his build and attire, a Trainer. Late twenties; not distressed or agitated. Hop takes his chances.

“Hi!” He greets when Hop unlatches the door, sticking his hand out for a shake.

“Hello,” Hop returns, pleasantly ignoring it, “How can I help you? Professor Sonia is busy, I’m afraid. I’m her assistant-”

“Hop, right?” The man completes, “Number 189 from the tournament three years ago?”

Hop double-checks that the phone is within reach. Dubwool is trotting over.

“-I was there too,” he continues, no indication he’s noticed Hop’s discomfort, “this is going to be my fifth time competing.”

He’s lost to Leon and Victor – Hop scans his face carefully.

“This is,” the man licks his lip nervously, “This is going to be my last tournament. I’ll take over the family business if I don’t become Champion this year. I just want to make it a good memory.”

“You don’t think you’re going to win?” Hop asks against better judgement.

The man looks down for a moment.

“No, I don’t. Champion Victor wiped my team out without trying last year.” The man admits, “Didn’t even switch out Inteleon when I brought out my Boltund.”

Oh, _Vic._

“His Inteleon is just…combative.” Hop tries, _just like his numbskull of a father,_ Hop doesn’t say. “The Champion lets him test his limits. Type matching isn’t his priority-”

“Yes! You get it, don’t you?” The trainer exclaims, startling Hop backwards. “It’s not just type-matching, I can’t figure out his strategy at all!”

It’s because Victor never strategizes, he just drops by for a 4 A.M Good Luck Kiss and rampages in tournaments.

“Can we talk about this? Over dinner?” The trainer holds up a box of curry puffs, _the_ curry puffs.

Hop’s stomach answers first.

xo

If he knew he was going to offer to do something as stupid as fight ten trainers in a day, he’d have asked for nine more good luck kisses.

Inteleon sees him sulking and walks over, prodding him like a fruit on the ground and pointing at the tablet he’s holding up.

It’s a video call, with Hop’s Cinderace - He waves hello and turns the camera to Hop, sleeves of his white lab coat rolled up, elbow deep in a box of documents. Hop pauses to catch his breath, wiping the sweat off his brow – Victor leans into the screen.

A blue and white wristband; too blurry in the screen, but Victor knows it has an embroidered Wooloo and Hop’s name monogrammed on it.

His first Valentines’ gift for Hop.

He’d received it gladly, shrinking in apology about not having many occasions to wear it, but it was really sweet, Victor shouldn’t look so down, he liked it, loved it, and could he try it on?

He’d smiled at it on his wrist, turning it and watching the gold thread of his name catch the light of their campfire. He’s doing it again, on screen – Distracted from his work, distracted by _Victor_.

Inteleon takes Victor’s idiotic smile as a sign to pull the tablet away and strut away with a huff. Cinderace says something and Inteleon turns to glance at Victor, before they both burst into obnoxious laughter. Terrible gossips –

-but amazing battle Pokémon. Which is why Inteleon is always on Victor’s battle roster.

That, and the fact that right after Victor, the next thing his bastard starter loves is starting fights.

He always snipes opponents in the eye to rile them up even though Victor scolds him every time. Yes, _of course_ it’s funny, but Victor can’t laugh because Champions have an image to uphold. During private battles though, well, Hop says he cackles like a Meowth - Inteleon stays unrepentant.

Selecting his team isn’t that meticulous a process – Victor never quantifies them as statistics. Every being exists in flux; anything goes in the thrill of battle. They surprised even Victor with spikes in strength, knocking out an opponent in one attack. All he had to do was promise ice-cream afterwards.

In other words, Victor chose whoever felt like fighting, because his children were moody little brats, and he loved them anyway.

Espeon had been hesitant the last few fights. She racked up a fainting streak with the gym leaders and sulked for a long while. Her ego seems to have made a full recovery since, and Victor smiles at her stretching in the moonlight.

No doubt Hatterene had helped. She adores Espeon, befriending her near the Watchtower ruins and throwing a fit until Victor adopted her. She hates loud noises and keeps the boys in line. Sometimes that involves a Brutal Swing, but it’s appreciated all the same.

The boys refer to Hydreigon and Toxtricity, both lounging in their pillow fort with noise-cancelling headphones. The two are constants in Victor’s team – big fans of a rough, dirty battle and trashy music. They mellow each other out and get antsy without each other – Marnie loves them to bits and brings them to Piers’ concerts, if only so Victor doesn’t have to go.

Victor considers his notes.

There was Talonflame, a diplomatic gift from Kalos. It was a rough month, acclimating to Galar’s city air. He did well in gym fights, but adding him to a Championship roster was still dicey.

His Dubwool just likes being his paper shredder, the chaos in the stadium spooks Corviknight, Flapple was a gift from Hop, and wouldn’t see a day in battle if Victor could help it – Then there was Eternatus and Zacian, but…

Zacian is snoring at the foot of his bed. Eternatus has her huge head on her, the rest of her body hovering up to their dubiously legal high ceiling.

First year of being Champion, when they had more time, Victor took them to the empty fields of Postwick with Hop and Zamazenta. The long grass was dying and made a wonderful crinkling as the siblings threshed wildly, play wrestling and tumbling.

Eternatus likes the cool breeze, napping in the sky, nearly being blown off to Hammerlocke until she coiled her large body into a tree. Zacian was a sight to behold, bounding back for dinner with her regal coat dripping with mud and flaked with grass bits, panting and exhilarated.

  


They never asked to be classified as Legendary Pokémon.

Zacian fought her whole life to protect the home she loved, Victor couldn’t ask more from her. She loves their family and babying Zamazenta and whining when Victor chases her into a corner with a hose and soap. She loves splashing water all over him and bounding away when he chases her with a towel – right into Inteleon’s trap, receiving a water snipe to the face. She has a breathless bark of a laugh, stopping and starting up again when Victor grabs the hose and aims it at his starter – only to get soaked first anyway.

She’s had enough fighting. Victor leaves her off the list.

Eternatus had it worse still, to be defined as an invader and threat. People still cower when they see her – which is exactly why Victor brings her to every fight.

She’s lactose intolerant, temperamental, greedy and a downright brute when she wants her way – everything Victor is. She’s curious about the sun, about Galar. She likes Nessa and Melony’s gyms, likes their cold hands as they gently pet her and coo over how sweet a girl she is. Zacian’s thick fur is her favourite place to sleep; she likes curry so spicy it’d burn a hole through the pot.

She loves battles, just like Victor. She loves winning, just like Victor.

She gets nightmares, says she remembers falling from the sky. Hurting Victor. Hurting family.

He adds her to the team even if management sends passive aggressive emails. If Galar is afraid of his daughter, they should be terrified of him. Victor finalizes his list with Inteleon, Espeon, Hatterene, Hydreigon, Toxtricity and Eternatus.

He tosses the boys their Piers and Marnie plushies that always end up on the other side of the room by morning anyway, shuts the window but leaves the blinds up for Espeon and Hatterene. Flapple is asleep on Dubwool, Talonflame and Corviknight cuddled close in their Pokéballs. Rotom struggles out of Inteleon’s grip to charge, and he sulks as he returns to his Pokéball.

He tucks his feet carefully under Zacian, cradles Inteleon in his hand, under his chin. Victor counts Wooloo, remembers the wristband, their first Valentines, Hop’s smile, Hop, Home.

xo

They broke their last guest mug, so Flik, previously Trainer Stranger and possible vengeful sore loser, sips at his tea from a beaker, trying not to scald his fingers through the thin glass.

“The schedule isn’t finalized, but I should be one of the last competitors.” He says, wiping puff pastry crumbs off his fingers.

“You can count on him sending out Inteleon first,” Hop replies, not that Victor spoiling his starter is new information. It’s hard not to, honestly, he’s a sweet boy who always helps, with the dishes, the laundry, himself to the expensive granola…

Flik puts his head in his hands.

“-If Toxtricity is sent out, that means Hydreigon will be on his team too,” Flik recites, “If Espeon is sent out, Hatterene will be too,”

He’s clearly done his research. If Espeon sat out Hatterene would pout the whole match, giving Victor as much of a headache through the match as the opponent. Toxtricity gave himself acid reflux from sheer nervousness without Hydreigon.

“The final one he has is Eternatus,” Flik says, pausing a video of an exhibition match between Raihan and Victor. No new trainers had pushed Victor to bring her out, yet.

“More or less the same line-up since he became Champion,” Hop confirms.

“And it works every time! It’s not type matching, it’s not his legendary – I just can’t figure out his weak spot!"

 _You’re looking at him,_ Hop thinks, suppressing the butterflies he feels to push the stern disappointment up instead _._

 _-_ though that wasn’t particularly relevant, or appropriate to bring up.

“If I knew, I’d be Champion,” Hop jokes kindly.

Flik delates at that.

Hop’s about to offer to pay for the meal as compensation when he catches sight of something white floating outside. Not a beanie, or a Hattrem, thank Arceus. Just his Wooloo wristband swaying on the laundry line.

That’s an idea.

“Tell you what,” Hop says, “If you can keep a secret-“

Flik perks up, nodding quickly.

“I could ask for a favour, you know, as rivals?” Hop says, half out the window, snatching the wristband off the line. Flik receives it gingerly.

“Keep this on you during the tournament. Vic. Tor. Champion Victor will recognize it,” Hop says, stumbling and moving on, “I’ll tell him to look out for it and give you a proper last fight.”

“Will you? Really?”

“Just return it in one piece,” Hop says, shaking Flik’s hand as he jumps up, “-and get me more curry puffs if it works,” he jokes. Flik bounds for the door, turns heel to grab his pack and finish his scalding tea, before running to the front door and pausing there.

“Thank you, this means the world.”

“No worries,” Hop smiles warmly, holding the door open.

“-though, you know,” Flik says lowly, leaning back in and whispering, “I don’t think this is the sort of gifts _rivals_ give each other, if you get my drift,”

Hop blinks.

“Don’t worry, I can keep a secret,” Flik says with a wink, “-but I’m betting good money that the Champion’s got a little _crush_ ,”

Flik is down the road before Hop formulates a reply.

“Keep an open mind!” he calls, waving goodbye.

“Fingers crossed!’ Hop replies, waving back and shutting the door behind him.

-to see a distressed Sonia behind him. Her hair is down and disheveled, her eyes frantic.

“Hop, darling?” she says sweetly.

“Sonia? Ma’am?”

“I need gloves, a small torch, and the silicon-tipped forceps, the 15cm one. Also, my glasses.”

Her glasses are on her head. She seems to realize, following Hop’s gaze.

“No questions, Hop,” she says, holding up a finger, “-please.”

It’s a terrible two seconds between noticing that her heirloom ring is missing from her right index finger, and that Nessa was still in Sonia’s office. Sonia is grabbing her good Scotch from the pantry and rushing back to her office.

“Ok,” Hop says, rushing to get the items and the mental image out his head.

The day ends with him exhausted, unable to shake the nagging feeling that he’s forgetting something. Something big.

xo

The line he’s taught is “ _Each fight is unique and it’s clear each trainer gave it their all.”_

The truth, however, is that after the fifth battle of the day, every trainer is faceless, their team inconsequential. Inteleon’s imposing figure gives him strength, even if Victor knows he must be exhausted – his attacks are merciless; he stopped his taunting two matches ago. He’s stopped smiling.

The instruction is that the Champion has to smile for the camera.

There’s been a camera in his face for three years now. Victor is smiling; when Inteleon receives a brutal attack to his side, Victor is smiling. When Inteleon falls, crumpling to the floor with a sharp cry, Victor is smiling.

Victor smiles even when Inteleon’s battered body is unresponsive. Victor thanks him, pressing the Pokéball to his left cheek, then gently drawing it to his right.

_Give them hell, give them hell._

The crowd cheers; loves his gentle quirk - A good luck kiss, how gentle, how charming, how adorable.

He’s smiling even though he sends out Hydreigon with the intention of seeing the opponent Pokémon bloody on the tarmac.

He ends his 9th battle of the day with two injured Pokémon. Then it’s time for intermission.

There are nurses on standby in his locker room. The one with a tight silver bun and tortoiseshell glasses has seen to Inteleon nine times today - he can see where her hair might have been that familiar bright pink in her youth; he can’t imagine she ever smiled. Victor had heard from her assistant that she was one of the most renowned nurses in the region – he _didn’t_ hear that her dedication and compassion began and ended at Pokémon.

When he stumbles in, knees buckling, she rushes immediately to his side – to snatch Inteleon and Hydreigon from his holster and leave Victor struggling to the benches.

It’s a matter of seconds before Inteleon and Hydreigon are healed, released from the machine in a strange glow. The nurse takes them out gently, wiping them dry from the liquid they were immersed in, resting them in a towel nest.

Victor finishes his isotonic jelly pouch and reaches for his Pokémon, only to have his outstretched hand slapped away.

“You’re not bringing these two Pokémon back onto the field,”

Inteleon and Victor make identical offended sounds of protest. The nurse’s glare shuts them both up.

“Inteleon’s been through worse,” Victor argues, “He can take one last fight,”

“He cannot and he will not, Champion Victor,” the nurse sneers, “the treatment might heal him physically, but he’s exhausted. Pushing him more means he’ll need more than a month to recuperate, and you can’t promise that as Champion.”

Victor stands to his full height – only for his intimidation tactic to fail when he winces from a strain in his oblique and folds. A stray projectile grazed him there in the morning – more than enough time for the adrenaline to fade and the pain to set in.

“It’s my professional opinion that you change your final team,” she sternly says, still holding Inteleon far from his reach. Her eyes soften when he doesn’t remove his hand from his side, or take a step further.

“Either you give my boys back, or they’re walking out to the field with me next fight.” Victor says between heavy panting.

The nurse, thrice his age and half his size, pushes him back to the chair with one hand.

“It’s my professional opinion that _you_ rest as well,” she says gently, before spraying him in the face with a 2-in-1 antiseptic anesthesia.

“I’m going to talk to the organizers about an extended break before the final match,” she declares, as the wound on Victor’s right cheek slowly cools and heals while his right eye burns in hellfire, “Go change out your team,”

Her assistant pulls him to stand, Victor catches sight of the time – only fifteen more minutes to the next match.

“It’s alright, Champion,” comes a voice from his right, obscured by his medicated eye, fused shut from pain, “Remember the exhibition match that got cancelled a few years back?”

The highly anticipated one between Raihan and Leon, both rivals guaranteeing a Gigantamax right off the bat.

“It was her doing,” he whispers, “you’re getting your break. Don’t worry.”

Victor’s led back to his holding room and helped to a chair. They switched off the lights when his Pokémon were inside, Victor requests they be left on when he leaves, with _please_ and _thank you_ and a smile.

He struggles with his holster, before it unbuckles, and he gently lays it on the table with the basket of his Pokéballs.

The room is still.

“You heard the lady,” Victor sighs, “Inteleon, Hydreigon, let’s call it a day,”

Victor counts backwards from twenty in silence. No one moves.

“Ok,” he sighs. He pulls Inteleon from his pouch, his starter lounging in his Pokéball. Exhausted surely, but still stubborn, protesting as Victor walks away from the table.

“I’m not looking. Inteleon’s not looking,” Victor says with his back turned to his Pokémon. “Whoever feels up to fighting first, move on over to the empty pocket.”

Inteleon chitters angrily in his hands. Victor just looks down at him, watches his fit drop to a pout, kissing the Pokéball gently when Inteleon sulks into his folded knees. There’s chattering behind them, sounds of movement.

“Is everyone done? All the pockets in the holster have to be full, alright?”

More shuffling still. Victor cradles Inteleon in his palms, warming the ball in his hand.

“It’s just one fight,” Victor whispers, though Inteleon is clearly holding back frustrated tears, “you did an amazing job all day, especially that last fight?”

Victor remembers the bloody tarmac, glittering with scales off Inteleon’s back. His tail is motionless and twisted at a painful angle. Inteleon is still standing.

“You were great last fight, we wouldn’t have gotten this far without you. You make me so proud.”

Inteleon just looks down.

“It’s just one fight,” Victor repeats, “then we’ll all get ice-cream, get on Corviknight, and go see Hop, alright?”

Victor smiles and bounces Inteleon gently in his palm.

“C’mon, crybaby, one fight, and we’re going to go **_home_**. We’re gonna see Hop…”

Inteleon grumbles.

“…and Cinderace…we can all go play near the lake…”

Inteleon huffs and turns away, Victor smiles and rotates the ball. Inteleon huffs and turns _again_ , Victor smiles wider and rotates the ball, round and round until Inteleon kicks the ball and Victor sees him mustering a brave smile.

“That’s my boy,” Victor says, nuzzling his starter, “Good Luck Kiss?”

Inteleon sticks out his tongue in mock disgust. Victor laughs.

“Everyone done?” Victor runs his hand over each pocket to make sure the six pockets are filled.

There’s a tap from Inteleon’s Pokéball. When he peers in, Inteleon sighs, before gesturing quickly, an embarrassed swipe of his hand from his left cheek, then to his right.

There’s nothing Victor wants more than finishing the worst tournament of his life with Inteleon. He moves the Pokéball to kiss his left cheek, then his right.

“We’ll be back soon.” Victor says, tucking Inteleon into the basket.

When the door closes behind Victor, there’s a loud chirping. Someone peers over the basket rim, right at Inteleon.

It’s Flapple.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, **THE** FIGHT EVERYONE HAS BEEN WAITING FOR! ROUND TEN OF TEN, CHAMPION VICTOR DEFENDING HIS TITLE AGAINST TRAINER FLIK!”

Victor rolls his shoulders back, feels the energy of the crowd pump through his sore body. The path to the arena is a dark tunnel, his holster a comforting weight. He has a hand over where Inteleon usually is in his holster, stretching and chittering and reminding Victor he’s not alone.

This is his first fight without Inteleon ever since he was Sobble. This is Inteleon’s first fight without Champion Victor ever since he was Trainer Victor. The thought distorts his courage.

“WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, LET’S WELCOME! CHAMPION VICTOR!”

The mantle hides his slight slouch, and Victor stands as tall as he can, striding and smiling into the arena as the crowd cheers for him.

“WHAT A FIGHT THIS IS GOING TO BE! CHAMPION VICTOR CERTAINLY HAS HIS CARDS ON THE TABLE, INTELEON IS ALREADY OUT AND READY FOR BATTLE! WHO WILL TRAINER FLIK SEND OUT?”

_What?_

Victor whirls around to find Inteleon at the edge of the pitch, unsure eyes meeting his own.

_But—_

He reaches for the pocket by his hip, feels the form of a Pokéball, but when he lifts it, even gently,

-it’s empty.

His heart fills impossibly. His damn kids, his absolute handful of a family – laughter bubbles out his chest. Victor reaches out and shouts-

“What’s wrong, crybaby? Don’t get scared now, I need you to win!”

The crowd only cheers louder, watching Inteleon unfurl his tail in relief and rush after Victor. The nurse is shouting something from the spectator stand - Inteleon makes a rude face at her and Victor pretends he doesn’t see it on the five gigantic stadium televisions.

Pleasantries begin, greeting his opponent in the middle of the arena with handshake. This man offers his left hand and greets him hesitantly.

Inteleon has his arms folded, his tail tapping impatiently as the commentator officiates the start of the battle. The trainer sends out a Boltund and Inteleon rolls his eyes.

Another electric type. Typical. Being zapped by Rotom’s charging cable was scarier.

“Champion Victor!” The opponent shouts suddenly.

“Let’s have a good match!”

He makes a strange movement, pulling back his left sleeve at the wrist, revealing a --

_Why does he have that?_

Inteleon turns, confused, tracing his line of sight to the wristband on their opponent.

_I love it, Vic. I love y-_

Victor can’t breathe, let alone give out a command.

He must have, somehow, because Inteleon moves, with a sharp cry that Victor hadn’t heard since they first met Eternatus. It’s guttural and enraged, the opponent Boltund flies back even with its immunity to water. Inteleon lashes his tail on the ground and positions himself directly in front of Victor, extending the gliders on his back protectively.

_No, no no, Hop keeps that in the lab, all his drawers have locks._

A Zap pushes Inteleon back, an awful crack resounding. Victor wrestles the urge to call Inteleon back and run. He shouldn’t be here, he should be on Corviknight right now. He should be a lot of things, but not this unsure of himself, never this unsure of Hop.

A long tail curls against his ankle, and he looks up to meet Inteleon’s eyes. Concern, then whirling rage. His tail is snapping like a whip against the tournament field again. Victor commands a Hydro Pump, and knows it isn’t very effective from the way Inteleon tenses with irritation.

_If he has that then Hop gave it to him. Why? **Why**?_

Inteleon reeling backwards shocks Victor back into focus – It must have been a Wild Charge. The Boltund looks winded as well; the opponent wants Inteleon out the way.

He might get just that. Inteleon’s tall frame is trembling – The crest on his head is a dead giveaway, amplifying each small movement. Inteleon seems to sense his hesitation, turning to glare at him.

_Blood on the floor, a whole chunk of his dorsal spine by his feet, shining leather in blue, torn and flayed on the ground--_

But he **promised** \- just one fight, then they’re going home,

Scorbunny and Sobble playing Cops and Robbers,

they’re going home,

Drizzile and Raboot stuffing themselves on curry,

they’regoinghomethey’regoinghome

Cinderace and Inteleon making rainbows in the backyard together —

“Hydro Pump!”

“Boltund, Wild Charge!”

It’s a pyrrhic victory, but Inteleon makes sure the Boltund falls before he does.

Victor completes his ritual quickly, anxious to return Inteleon to his holster - except Inteleon sees the tears smudged against his Pokéball when he presses it on his cheek-

-and _roars._ The commentator ends the round proper, masking how his starter is screaming and spitting, quaking with anger in his pocket. From his hip, Victor can hear a shrill hissing, starting and clicking to a stop in a rhythm Victor doesn’t understand.

He picks out _angry, hurt, enemy, home, hurt. _The rest of his holster responds, sounding like water in hot oil.

Toxtricity’s already pissed when Victor sends him out.

Which would be helpful in any other situation, but Victor has tunnel vision for the Hop’s name glittering in the stadium lights. Without Victor’s calm control, Toxtricity’s attacks are wilder, less directed.

_Like this, Hop? You’re ending it like this?_

The venom seeping out Toxtricity’s skin is choking like molten plastic, his agitation renders his dense, targeted Gunk Shot a wide violent spray instead. It’s devastating all the same - The opponent’s Rapidash has half her mane melted and wild from her frantic dodging. There’s a large acid burn across her flank, but it barely slows her down. It’s a warzone already, Toxtricity taking heaving breaths when a Psychic hits him right in the chest.

_Look me in the eye and tell me then, Hop. Stop running when I’m just **trying--**_

Flik raises his arm to rub his eyes from the stinging acid. The wristband is a stark white against his tan skin.

Victor feels his blood turn to lava. Faces in the crowd melt like plastic dolls, their cheers and the commentary dripping and puddling into incoherence. When he shouts, the words taste like sulphur.

“End this, Toxtricity! Dynamax!”

In a beam, Toxtricity returns. Releasing him in his Dynamaxed form calms Victor, like trying on a suit and finding that it fit just right – _yes, this is the size of my anger, exactly so._

Behind him is the thunderous bass of Toxtricity landing, standing, roaring, the world singing in rage. Victor finds it in himself to smile, a bright, real smile, as even air and sound turns corrosive.

_-and here I was, worried you’d change the locks._

He’s more alive than ever, every wicked cell in his body cheering in anger – Toxtricity’s leaning over his left shoulder like the devil, his mineral yellow eyes catching the fear in the Rapidash’s eyes.

  


“Max-Ooze,” Victor smiles at his son, so alike him, heart and eyes ablaze, “please, thank you.”

Thunderclouds sprout overhead; Victor watches poison inject into the field with Toxtricity’s cry, blanketing the world in a loudness. Every screaming spectator, every breaking heart, every crumbling dream turns into a silent film, overpowered by sheer volume.

Of course the fight is over.

Victor decides against an encore – he got a memo that the last fight ended too quickly. He’s smiling when he lifts Toxtricity’s Pokéball to eye level,

-only to see confusion and fear in his eyes, like he doesn’t understand why the victory doesn’t feel good in him. Victor runs a thumb over the clear shell, trying to calm him. Inteleon probably said too much, he’ll be fine once Hydreigon—

The thick odour of venom hangs in the air. Hydreigon isn’t here. Of course. That’s why he’s so rattled. Dynamaxing was too intense, static still biting at his nerves. Toxtricity is holding back tears, shaking and overwhelmed.

_Don't put me in this equation at all! Or I'll leave myself!_

Inteleon pipes up when Toxtricity returns to the pouch beside him, but Toxtricity is sadly silent. As the commentator drones on, Victor hears this much over the beat of his melting, warm heart: Inteleon’s confused chittering, upset and rapid. _home? win? enemy?_ Then, Toxtricity’s reluctant replies, _Win. Dad. Angry._ Followed by a soft, weak,

_Scary._

Gift chocolates in the sun. Expensive and unwanted. Warm and painful. The anger has gone, leaving only regret, sticky and dirty.

If Hydreigon isn’t here, the third pouch might be Dubwool, or Talonflame. Perhaps Flapple. Hatterene refused to neighbour with the boys, so Espeon was likely still in his fourth pouch. Eternatus was always in the farthest pocket, by his left hip. Hatterene was likely in the fifth then.

It has to be Hatterene. Being annoyed is her baseline, she’d hold the next few fights down, with any luck.

Victor makes his choice, reaching into his holster and selecting what’s most definitely-

“Holy shit, he called out Eternatus,”

“Rai, you promised no Rotoms on our honeymoon,”

The migration wasn’t until evening, and would last till dawn. There wasn’t much attractive in the heat of late afternoon but resting. The hotel seemed built for that – long billowing curtains letting in sunlight but not warmth, the breeze carrying the scent of local flowers. Raihan had barely stepped in when Rotom notified him that he’s got wifi, and the final championship match was on.

“It’s only halfway through the match and he called out a legendary,” Raihan objects, watching Eternatus’ giant, floating form keep its calm rhythm, rising and falling like a ribbon in a lake. The crowd’s screams are so shrill Rotom turns the volume down without being prompted.

“Yes, I’ve seen her.” Leon deadpans from behind Raihan, “When he used her to beat me and take my title.” Raihan doesn’t need to turn to know his husband’s arms are folded.

“What is he _doing?”_ Raihan asks like a football coach watching his son sign up for the drama club.

“Obviously having more fun than me,” Leon mutters.

_What did he just do?_

Eternatus keeps her calm hovering above Victor, the spectators going wild over her. Only Victor notices the telltale sign of her dorsal spines raised – she’s _livid._ He’s not sure what Inteleon told her, but she wasn’t coiled and relaxed - her body is unwound and positioned to strike.

He’s rearranging his holster in his mind – No Hydreigon - Toxtricity’s stress definitely signaled that. Maybe the girls rearranged – but, Hatterene and her cooties.

So.

If Eternatus is in the fifth pouch, third and fourth were likely to be Espeon and Hatterene. In which order, Victor isn’t sure.

It’s alright, Eternatus would end this quickly, Victor reasons. Nessa and Melony already knew how she was his sweet girl, maybe it was finally time to show Galar too.

Eternatus roars unprompted, her form swooping low to the opponent, opening her nightmarish maw and gnashing in a clear show of aggression.

Oh, no, she’s _his_ sweet girl.

Victor smacks Inteleon at his right hip, somehow _still_ talking to the rest in the holster. _What on Earth did he tell her?_

“WYNDON STADIUM, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? ETERNATUS, DESTROYER OF WORLDS HERSELF!”

That name only riles her up more. The opponent sends out his Dusclops, which looks like it wants nothing to do with his daughter. He orders a shadow ball, which could have been a cotton ball, the way Eternatus absorbed it.

Victor hides a wince as he orders a mild Poison Tail, with no additional gestures to signal that she should go all out for a final attack.

She swirls and Dusclop nearly flies into the audience anyway. The poor thing is barely back in their Pokéball when she **roars** and assumes attack position again, now against the unarmed trainer.

“Eternatus, come back!” Victor orders immediately, trying to keep the hysteria out his voice.

She swirls into a coil and throws a tantrum, grumbling and swatting her tail and ignoring his order. The stadium’s cheers dip low to a hushed murmur.

Victor clears his throat, smiling nervously.

“C’mon, sweetheart, fun’s over! Come back!” He calls, waving her Pokéball like he’s calling her home for dinner.

She groans, it sounds like a tornado through a canyon – and thankfully obeys. The spectators are already laughing at his pet name. It’s a relief that the energy’s back up, but Victor can see tomorrow’s headlines:

**“CHAMPION VICTOR’S SWEETHEART- ETERNATUS HERSELF?”**

That probably would be his fate by tomorrow regardless.

Eternatus is wild in her Pokéball, grumpy like the night Victor caught her. She’s used to closing fights, she’s used to Victor calling her back with pride in his voice. 

_Out, out, out,_ she’s protesting as he brings her by his left ear. _Home, Hop, Shield, Break, Home,_ Break, she hisses as he refuses to reconsider, bringing her to his right cheek.

He slides Eternatus back on his belt and sighs – It’d be an easy win with her, but the memory of Toxtricity near tears holds him back.

Half over, just three more fights to go – Victor finds himself wishing the fight would never end; he’s going to spend the rest of the night consoling his kids and scolding Inteleon for calling their opponent a _homewrecker_ \- yes, Victor supposes he’s not _wrong_ \- it’s complicated, and regardless, he’s parent-locking the reality TV channels.

Then the opponent is waving to someone in the crowd, the wristband swaying high–

Victor decides it’s not so complicated after all - he’s going to rub the trainer’s face in the dirt. He’s already got a migraine, and he’s pretty sure grinding his molars so hard he hears something crack constitutes _Intense Emotion_ – so Victor forgoes gambling between Espeon and Hatterene and selects whoever’s in his last pocket. It’s either Dubwool, Flapple or Talonflame -

-all of whom are kind of scared of Eternatus, and wouldn’t use the pocket next to her.

The stadium goes ballistic.

“Zacian? He called out **Zacian**?” Leon gasps, shoving Raihan aside for a closer look at the screen.

Only then does Raihan notice what his husband is wearing – or barely wearing – anything, really, besides a sigh of lace floating over his skin like seafoam. Each breath he takes sets the thin fabric in motion, like the forest ground catching sunlight through the swaying branches overhead.

 _So that’s why he didn’t want to share a carry-on,_ Raihan thinks dumbly, as his mental processes wheeze to a pathetic stop.

“Two legendaries in one fight? What is he thinking?”

“Rotom, power off,” Raihan orders, “Go charge in the other room,”

“What?” Leon whirls around, the garment floating after _just_ slow enough for Raihan to get a glimpse, “Are you crazy? He just sent out the legendary protector of Galar! Rotom, get back here!”

Rotom flies out the room.

Raihan slips his hand into the crook of Leon’s arm, a fistful of lace and warmth under his fingers, and _pulls._ Leon’s ready to argue until Raihan leans down and whispers,

“Come to bed, I’ll show you a Legendary Pokémon,”

xo

Victor is sure he has a smile on his face, since that’s how he decided wants to be buried. Smiling, next to Hop, old and wrinkled – one out of three kind of sucks, but it’ll have to do.

Zacian is a majestic sight next to her chosen trainer. From where they stand tall and proud, no one can tell that she’s the only thing propping the Champion from falling sideways and curling into a fetal position.

“I think Hop’s breaking up with me,” Victor says, through his teeth, sounding like he’s crying without tears.

She shifts away with a huff, leaving Victor to stumble. Inteleon takes the chance to start screaming bloody murder from his Pokéball, and Eternatus resumes her wild thrashing. Victor pulls his mantle over them.

The trainer tosses out Purrserker, dynamaxes her.

Zacian snorts. The Pokémon she and Zamazenta chased as children? She turns for Victor to give an order.

Victor looks up at the sky. No stars out tonight.

The crowd is chanting.

_Champion! Champion! Champion!_

“Do you think it’s because I got him shortcake instead of tiramisu last year?” Victor whispers, hand over Inteleon’s Pokéball.

Something kicks under his hand.

“You know, for his birthday?”

That’s the last thing Victor says before he sinks into darkness.

Champion sighs. This was a long time coming, wasn’t it? Through a haze, Zacian is moving, attacking, winning.

The opponent sends out Bewear.

Champion vaguely remembers an instruction he’s to follow; it was either:

_Call her back, she’s fought enough. Call her back now._

_or_

_Always smile for the camera._

He commands Moonblast with a winning smile, in a deep, berry-red voice.

  


The announcer is bellowing, and stars appear in the sky. These are plastic and only fall when he wins. He only sees these stars if he stays Champion. Just like Hop. Exactly like Hop.

Who is Hop?

He sees the opponent call back Bewear and his smile malfunctions. There’s something he’s supposed to feel, but he's counting stars as they fall instead.

_It had to happen eventually. It was ancient._

_Hardly a tent if it has a hole through the roof_

Champion: "######”

_What?_

_Of course I remember, you crybaby._

Champion: "######”

_Come off it, I was crying too, it's fine._

Champion: "######”

_I'd have been just fine being rivals forever._

_I guess I couldn’t believe it_

Champion moves mechanically forward for a handshake. The Pokémon are saying something. He can’t understand them.

Champion: "######”

_Well…_

_I used to think I would, eventually,_

_but then you said you...lo-liked me back._

Champion: "######”

_You're a headache! Mum can hear us!_

_..._

_I don't think I could, now._

_I think it has to be you. Sorry._

Champion: "######”

 **_You_ ** _don’t have to be_ _sorry, Mr. Champion._

_I'm the one who..._

_You can't let me down easy,_

_and you couldn't find it in you to hurt me_

Champion: "######

_I **know** you love me, Vic, that's why._

_Vic,_

“Thank you so much, Champion Victor,” The opponent gushes.

_Victor_

“That was a, amazing. I’ll have to get Hop those curry puffs after all, I can’t believe-”

 **_Hop_ ** _—_

Victor surges forward, ripping the wristband off a confused Trainer Flik. The crowd is cheering, the cameras haven’t noticed, his mantle must have blocked their view.

“Stay the fuck away from Hop,” Victor growls, leaning down with what could be explained away as a smile. He intends to end it at that, before pain shoots up his side and he topples forward, his arm shooting out to regain balance – right on Flik’s face.

xo

“ **OH!** WHAT A _BEAUTIFUL_ RIGHT HOOK, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY—"

There’s a yelp from the front door, Dubwool rushing in, followed by a frantic Hop.

“Hop? Sweetie?” Sonia calls,

He’s struggling to push out several mics stuck through the door, there’s a loud crash of glass outside.

“-CHAMPION VICTOR SENDS _HIMSELF_ OUT AS THE SEVENTH POKÉMON-“

“Hop? Poppet?” Sonia shrills, rushing down the stairs. They barely get the door shut and latched when a journalist slams against their laboratory window, making both professors scream.

Hop dives to lock it quickly and drops the blinds, then rushes to do the same for all the windows, dousing the laboratory in darkness. Dubwool wheezes out a bleat, his coat mussed from the scuffle. Hop’s glasses are skewed, his lab coat only attached to his body by a button.

“I SUPPOSE THAT MAKES IT THREE LEGENDARIES TONIGHT, EH? OH, LORD, THAT **_WILL_** LEAVE A BRUISE-”

xo

Nearly midnight, but the wishiwashi’s small, darting movements are still crystal clear through the Alolan Marine Conservatory’s migration viewing platform.

“I’ve never seen so many shinies in one area, let alone a whole school of them,” Leon whispers, pressed up against the submarine’s floor to wall observation panel. His breath doesn’t even fog up the glass – they really did think of everything.

“Look, a Luvdisc,” Leon turns to where Raihan is pointing. Sure enough, one is swimming in circles, until another pops up from behind the corals. They swim away, side by side.

“It’s true,” Leon smiles, smitten and leaning on Raihan, “they’re always in pairs, or they’ll die from loneliness,”

The only trivia Raihan knows is that they were dangerously overfished as a Valentines’ trinket last year.

“Mm,” Raihan replies, “that’s relatable,”

“Git,” Leon laughs, “you made it ten years,”

“Thirteen,” Raihan corrects, “since you became Champion. If we count since we were kids and promised to come here together—”

“-fifteen.” Leon completes, twisting to stare at Raihan in wonder, before laying his head back down, “wow,”

“Let’s extend our honeymoon,” Raihan says suddenly.

Leon looks up at his husband and scans for visible symptoms of heat stroke.

“We’ve only got until tournament season ends for the media frenzy to follow us here,” Leon reminds.

Raihan doesn’t argue, but he turns his gaze away to the fishes.

“I want to though,” Leon tacks on quickly, regretting bringing up their responsibilities at all. Leon knows it’s not anger that Raihan’s trying to hide by looking away.

“-really, _really_ want to,”

“Let’s do it,” Raihan says, “we’ve got time.”

Leon sees Rotom duck behind Raihan, banner of a Galar news site on his screen.

“Rai, you promised,” Leon frowns.

“Just checking the news,” Raihan replies easily, “the finalist fight was wild. I bet Victor’s gonna have interviews till next month. We have three days at the _least_ , trust m- hey!”

Leon swipes the sneaking Rotom in mid-air, and it shrivels under Leon’s glare, daring him to lockscreen him out.

“FIERCE FIGHT FOR LOVE” The headline screams, “CHAMPION VICTOR GOES BERSERK.”

Leon scrolls down, past blurry footage of…a wristband? There’s a league card of a trainer he doesn’t recognize, and there’s the trainer again, face under the full force of Victor’s fist.

“-shocking decision to send out two legendaries-“ _scroll_ “-took a personal turn. Sharp-eyed fans have recognized the wristband as—” _scroll_ “-rumours of late-night trips to Postwick-“

Leon braces himself.

_scroll_

“-longtime rival, Assistant Pokémon Professor Hop, brother of-”

That’s certainly his younger brother, running for refuge in the lab. Leon wants to call home immediately, check on Sonia, ask if Victor is ok, if he knows all the contingency plans-

He looks up and Raihan’s looking back – corpse-still and faithful like corals enduring their hollow ribs until their hearts swim home. A hand on the other side of the aquarium glass, so when Leon swims near enough, he can remember human warmth. 

“Ok,” Leon turns off Rotom, “three days.”

xo

Victor kept his promise about ice cream, even if he had to send Inteleon in his stead with his credit card.

Inteleon comes back with the full story and a pint of rum raisin – Zacian and Flik’s Pokémon tell him everything about the last fight, the dying family business, Flik’s dream, his request to Hop.

Flik confirms everything, once they remove the wires from his jaw. He’s a nice fellow, almost bashful when Victor apologizes and foots his medical bill.

“I asked for a fight I wouldn’t forget, and Arceus as my witness, I got it,” he says, drooling a little as he smiles. Victor feels terrible; even worse when he sends a box of curry puffs to his ward and tells Victor to thank Hop for him.

A camera shutter goes off when they reach Postwick and Inteleon flinches. It’s just a trainer and her Morpeko taking selfies. Victor lowers his flat cap with his good hand and Inteleon guides them slowly to Cinderace, waiting at the end of the train platform.

It’s a tedious, slow walk to the first deserted field – they walk into the shroud of grass. Only then can Victor call out Zacian and Flapple. Inteleon helps him onto Zacian’s back carefully before returning to his Pokéball.

With a nod, Cinderace and Flapple set out to the deserted paths of Postwick – Cinderace would lead the way; Flapple would redirect Zacian if he saw any reporters.

Postwick in late summer is golden like Hop’s eyes. Victor would enjoy it all – the ride, the scenery, the destination, but every small jolt sends pain rippling through him. Zacian thrashes through a particularly brambly bush to a stop, whining in apology at Victor’s pained groan. It’s a lot colder and darker here, where they agreed to meet, but then again, the Slumbering Weald always is.

Zamazenta’s the only colour near the ruins, Hop a smaller wisp in his thick fur, camouflaged without his white lab coat.

  


He’s lost in a book – hiding from the media frenzy in his overdue chores with the lab on lockdown. He had a dusty book list to tackle, Dubwool and Wooloo to shear, ugly old clothes to donate…

\- a trainwreck of a boyfriend to finally dump, a restriction order to file for, apartment locks to change…

Hop is looking at him. Victor is willing back tears.

In the time he takes to look down and take two deep breaths, Hop is already by his side, holding his one good arm and helping him off Zacian. She trots off and all but kicks her brother to leave the two of them alone.

Here they are, the only place the reporters won’t get to them – The concert hall of the Slumbering Weald. The rules are simple - no littering, no vandalising the trees, no sneaking, or quietly hiding within the tall brush – if you hear fairies singing you better sing back and warn them off, because if they see a human too scared to shout…

When Zacian hears where they’re going, she has Inteleon translate one thing on the tablet:

_The fairies are always nearer than they sound._

It’s beautiful for a place where visitors enter and survivors leave – equal parts serene, secretive and scary.

 _Just like Hop_ , but those words don’t feel like Victor’s to say anymore.

It’s an ordeal to even sit – Hop helps him down to the ground, quietly watching his limp, the side of his torso he has to clutch. He just got the cast removed; still has two splints.

Hop looks down, the autographed splint catches his eye – Victor and Flik signed the injuries they were most sorry for. He plants his hand in the grass right by Victor’s, dips forward and kisses him.

He’s been smoking; it’s a brand Victor doesn’t recognize by taste. Hop cradles his jaw, has Victor tilting into his touch. His heart is willing, but his ribs are aching from how he’s leaning so far forward – then Hop _pushes,_ off his hand, rocking onto his knees. The pain closes like a book, his spine straight to meet Hop’s kiss above him. 

"What's that face?" Hop asks when they pull apart, "Don't you _want_ your welcome back kiss?"

_So this is how anemia feels,_ Victor thinks, dazed.

“-give it back then."

Hop's kissing him again.

The Weald is warm when they stop, from their flushed faces to their outstretched hands. Hop runs his thumb over Victor’s cheekbone.

“Are you ok, Vic?” He whispers, like they haven't been on opposite ends of Galar for most of the past three years, like Victor just woke from a nightmare, already in Hop's arms. Just the two of them in the zipped-up tent, the world outside the noise of rain.

His thumb catches hot tears.

_Don’t leave me,_

“I’m sorry,” Victor says, “I’m so sorry, Hop,”

They’re too near his nightmares, the ones where Hop is dead against a tree. There’s nothing he can say that doesn’t sound like an excuse.

The sleepwalking, smiling Champion on screen with bloodied knuckles – it looks like his reflection in the hospital mirror.

Victor unthreads his fingers from Hop’s hair, drops his arm and lays it lifeless between both their thighs. Hop slides his palm into his, dewy from the grass, and curls his fingers.

“I put you and the heir of Wyndon West Curry Puffs in the hospital because I forgot to text,” Hop whispers, instead of apologizing, instead of forgiving.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“It’s _you_ , Vic. I think I could’ve known.”

_He really couldn’t have._

Champion Victor who sent Zacian out for a petty fight. Victor who scared Toxtricity into a week of mute recovery. Vic, his Vic, who let Inteleon be mauled ten times in a day. They’re one and the same.

Hop stares into the woods.

“When Lee was Champion,” Hop starts. One of ten of his blurry childhood years – before he kissed Victor, when he still wanted to be Champion.

“-we were play battling. Then he wasn’t Lee, for a few minutes, and he wasn’t playing.” Hop holds his left shoulder, where Victor knows there’s a smooth scar, healed and faint. His blood runs cold.

“Ran off to the hills behind our neighbour’s field right after, so if you’re thinking of doing that, the caves are sealed up.”

“This isn’t a _joke_ , Hop,”

“Cried and said he’d never return to Wyndon when Sonia found him,” Hop continues, “Raihan showed up with camping gear and we didn’t see them for a week.”

Hop goes silent, there’s only the sound of Wooloo in the field behind them, rapid pawsteps. Maniacal cackling and the splash of a water gun missing its target.

“Never happened again.” Hop says, “Raihan said they cooked up some excuse to battle and fudged some research about Charizard. They saw Lee twice a month each, at least.”

“That’s the secret? Being around people?”

“I think it’s talking to someone who isn’t a Pokémon once a week, Vic.”

Victor snorts at the idea, doesn’t expect Hop to slam his fist into the grass and glare.

“I’d do anything that’s worth a shot, Vic,” Hop snaps, “I _saw_ when you sent Zacian out--"

There’s a clear, happy whistling – it’s coming from right under a tree.

“—and I _knew,_ all over again -- I let them do that to you--” Hop screams, like wind through broken windows. “You came home! I should have _known_! I made you go back-”

The whistling recedes underground.

“I’m fine, Hop,”

That stone-faced Nurse Joy - she pulled him off Flik and screamed at his management for _“trying to kill the boy the same way they did with Leon”_.

“You’re hurt, you don’t even have a place to hide now,” Hop whispers. He can hear Victor’s breathing, heaving from pain, “they camp at the lab, block off my apartment; they’re only holding off because the farm’s also Lee’s house-”

 _-because they know you won’t sic Zamazenta on them,_ Victor doesn’t say.

“-couldn’t visit you in the hospital,” Hop chokes, “they were at your apartment too,”

 _Not for long,_ Victor wants to joke, hearing Eternatus snore from her Pokéball.

Hop looks at him. It breaks Victor’s heart.

“I saw you fight it,” Hop confesses.

He’d missed the live telecast, the next-day broadcast - missed the online storm until he was on the roof of the lab waiting for their escape Corviknight. The Victor on his small Rotom screen is everything Hop asked of him – smiling in the stadium lights, cruel for his duty, eyes focused on the fight, not searching for Hop –

He breaks into his own apartment from the window for the Wooloo plush.

In his childhood home and refuge he holds it and remembers - past the sound of Charizard’s fire, Hop hears their mother screaming from the window. Lee flies forward for him, only for Wooloo to shove him back, shaking in fear. His small hands can’t reach his brother.

“If I was just in the stadium--”

“I had you,” Victor insists. Hop looks near tears. “I had your good luck kiss,”

A young man is singing birdsongs, tailed by glass bells. It’s beautiful – it’s not human.

“How am I going to get them to you now, Vic?” Hop says, giggling, then laughing like it’s being twisted out his lungs. Do they have to kiss in a possessed forest before every match? Is some cartoonish villain about to kidnap him so Victor loses? Because he would, and he’d chance it.

The singing stops, startled.

“Move in with me,”

Hop can’t find it in himself to laugh at that.

“You live in a dump,”

“It could be _us,_ ” Victor gestures between them, “It could be _our_ dump,”

Hop thinks of three legendary Pokémons in the same room.

“Come study Legendary Pokémon, in Wyndon. They’ve seen Eternatus and Zacian, you have Zamazenta-” 

“I’m just an Assistant Professor, Vic,” Hop says.

Victor blinks.

Children don’t get that being a tooth fairy isn’t a viable career. Champions don’t either – a lot of life disappears when your job is to be Galar’s pride and joy. That one childhood victory was signing a contract to be a Pokémon for the Champion’s League – just a luxurious Pokéball for Galar’s strongest. It could have been himself, Hop realizes, he was so close.

He was sold on the dream as a child, probably left Lee so alone, stranded on his younger brother’s pedestal. Now Victor’s broken at the foot of his throne, still trying to reach Hop.

He could leave, help fasten the mantle back on and fix his crown. He could help kill Victor for Galar’s joy. With nothing but Champion to be, Victor could leave his human heart behind and become legend – Champion of Galar, Tamer of Legendaries.

Or he could ruin the fairytale, tear this castle down with everything he was - just an assistant professor, just a failed trainer, just Hop. He could tell Victor stories to hide under his crown, that the sun was warm, large, heavy, like this love he’s keeping safe for them both.

Victor could walk out that dark castle, know his name when Hop calls for him. He could smile without instruction, wonderful and warm. What would he look like? Would it really just be ten years?

The tree canopies tangle like hair, barely any warmth the forest ground. Swaying overhead, the summer sun splits into stars they could count in the morning, falling asleep in the false night.

There's a large rock just a step away from Hop. Behind it his old neighbour is singing, the one they buried two summers ago.

“Marry me!” Victor shouts, eyes wide, jerking back and tugging Hop along. Hop stumbles to stand, helping Victor up with shaky hands. They've been here too long.

“Eventually,” Hop replies, eyes darting to find the nearest way to sunlight

“They already know,” Victor argues.

“They maybe know,” Hop returns, “I didn’t tell them anything.”

Old Ms Violet is still singing, sounding like birdsong and flowers laughing.

“I mean it!” Victor shouts, while Hop struggles to help him up a grassy step as tall as his ribs.

Hop makes a face of disgust at the bloodstained wristband; he accepts it anyway.

“You can’t propose to me with a blood sacrifice, Vic,”

“Why not?” Victor has the audacity to ask, “I’m _serious_ \- My career’s over if I don’t have my good luck charm.”

They move slowly out the forest, struggling between them to be loud enough to warn the fairies off, but not enough to disturb the wild Pokémon.

“I’m pretty sure the contract you signed to become Champion says you can’t, Vic,” Hop says, slowing down now that they were out the forest.

“Didn’t read it,” Victor shrugs, sitting up slowly, “-what are they gonna do if I _do_ get married?”

“Fire you?”

“-and replace me with…?”

They stare at each other, a good long while.

“Lee?”

“He’s already married, he’s not chaste anymore,”

“That _can’t_ be a requirement,” Hop says, slumping against a low iron fence, warm in the sun.

“I don’t know, I didn’t read the fu-”

“Lee was supposed to help you through the process.”

Victor remembers teaching Inteleon how to forge his signature just to get through the thick stack of documents faster. Leon is shopping online for snapbacks, one hand deep in his second pouch of crisps.

“ _Can_ we get married?”

“You turned eighteen in March, so-”

“April!” Victor scolds, scandalized, “Hop!”

“What are they gonna do if we go to Alola for our honeymoon?” Hop asks, letting his embroidered name catch the sunlight, delighting in how he knows Victor is staring at him as he pretends he doesn’t notice.

_What were they going to do if they didn’t come home? Tamers of Legendaries that Galar couldn’t tame?_

“I have to heal if I want to stand a running chance,” Victor sulks.

“You can read contracts in the meantime. If the word “chaste” shows up, you better start another online petition,”

The long grass behind them shakes like a rattle, Zacian and Zamazenta occasionally barking, always followed by Inteleon’s laughter.

Far on their left a train is leaving Postwick Station with a loud whistle. Out of sight past the right bend is Hop’s childhood home, his empty pack of cigarettes, his Dubwool left to guard the gate.

Either direction is going to need a good luck kiss. They stay there in the sun, another hour in honeymoon.

  


**Author's Note:**

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>  Find my art on twitter at @poke_xowx , leave me a tip at https://ko-fi(.)com/mangerine  
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>  Love for my beta @freshia who added the Beyoncé é to every single pokémon that appeared this fic. Title from ‘XO’ by Beyoncé with the é.


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